I'm sending warm fuzzies to dear TerryD! <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR><BR>We miss you and hope all is well!<BR><BR>(I hope he didn't get in trouble from all those racy photos that I sent him!) <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-shocked.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-shocked.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-shocked.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR>

Oh, poor Terry! <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-sad.gif"border=0> I do hope that the dead one was not Julie, and that she returns unscathed! But if it is her, I understand how it feels. I lost a pet cat to a neighbor's dog when I was little, it was horrible what he did to her, and her body was broken when my mom finally got the dog to leave...She was still trying to live though...So yea...my condolences...<img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0><BR><BR>~Goldie<BR><BR><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-mad.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-blush.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-crying.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-cool.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-confused.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-wink.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-tongue.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-rolleyes.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-devil.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-sad.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-shocked.gif"border=0>

More comforting hugs and golden smiles for dear TerryD! <BR>You stir the depths of our souls with your humor, your poetry, your sensitivity.<BR>We are fortunate to be touched by your thoughts. <BR>Blessings to you and thank you, TerryD! <img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-smile.gif"border=0>

Oh let me sit between you two and dwell in bliss... <BR><BR><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><img src="http://www.tolkienonline.com/mb/i/expressions/face-icon-small-happy.gif"border=0><BR><BR>Lingering shadows danced dark, cool, shades on the forest's carpet. Ferns, moss, and fallen leaves fashioned a haven of peace for the weary. Beneath one tree, upon a verdant niche of shadows and leafy bed,.. lay the form of a man. Cloaked in grey-green folds his shape was shrouded with the hint of mystery. So was his life, not so his future. For, the musky fragrance of deep-forest breezes had whispered the lounging mystery asleep. And, with its tender, perfumed song the breeze brought a dream. This dream quickly turned to nightmare....<BR><BR>"Elurin,.." the forest whispered in dream. "Lost heir, of the lost heir of Dior Eluchil, come and awaken. Trace your shadow upon the living. Now is your time,.. discover where the roses bloom, awaken the Lost Lady... yet, first, find yourself, open your eyes. Come awaken..."<BR><BR>Shadows stirred into deeper darkness beneath the sleeper's cozy reverie. The Half-elven wanderer had lead a solitary life. His father, Elurin, was lost in the assault on Menegroth. His mother a village maiden, uncommon in her beauty, yet, common-born of gardener's kin. Alas, true to the tragic House of Elwe, this maid was left unwed. She had held her child and sang elven-song to companion his sleep. She whispered tales of Beren Erchamion, the hero strong and fair. She had woven verse of Luthien Tinuviel, to amuse her growing child's wandering mind. There were tales of the Sindar and of the Edain. There were her stories of Greycloak, the Hidden King. All to entertain and soothe her child in love. All to remind him of his dual birth, his common-regal lineage.<BR><BR>The sadness of the woman's heart could not compete with the loss of her love, Elurin. For the elf had promised her redemption and a place among his elven kin. Not to be, for lost was Elurin, forgotten his trysting pledge. <BR><BR>Upon her death bed she had lain and gave the child a name,.. "Trace, from this day ever be. No longer will you be tied to my property. Your father of elven blood desired you to be called Trace. Remember that my child." Then, she had clouded her eyes and emptied her soul into the haven of death. She was released from her great joy and greater sorrow.<BR><BR>Trace, the half-elven, slept fitfully among his dreamy reverie. Hanging branches creaked, as if full of grief. Leafy carpet murmured in fluttering sympathy. Haunting rumors of forgotten fragrances, lifted the elf-man's tormented soul, with a flight of longing and doubt.... <BR><BR><BR>The forest’s dream was a wraithlike song, an embrace of terror and heroic doom, love lost, then, found. Deeper, the tenuous night-memory twisted in echoes of forlorn dispair. Darker, the images hunched as predator seeking prey. Hungry, vicious images, textured with venomous desire, molested Trace’s nauseous sleep, as if feeding upon the starving poor. <BR><BR>Voices, horrible, tormented, sang in a chorus of oblivion,.. resounding in torment in the half-elven soul. Incoherent phrasings,.. disoriented dreamed stutterings,.. "Over the nations of the North,.. whose nobles shread the poor man’s lamb to feed their feasts with hearty fare. Who shut the wanton poor from table fair. Swarm with me, orcan might, thus 'it shall come to pass, that the Hosts of Mordor shall gather once more before the Tower of Darkness. For Barad-Dur shall rise again, its dark and majestic glory brought once again to unholy life, and from its gates shall issue forth...'"<BR><BR>Trace writhed in stagnant passivity. His dreaming soul, rift of sanity, dwelt among the desolate pleasures of maurauding havoc. The pleading voices of children crying for bread,.. a tyrant’s howl roused as a giant from slumberous caverns,.. spectral, beneath these voices, undulating wails rolled in brooding tempests, numerous as the children of blood. The nightmare rushed as a trampling of horse and clanging armour. Then, demon child and devil bride with soulless weeping cried, as thousand lives drink thousand deaths, in toast of vengeance pride! Until ghosts, as wolves on wintry night, prowled greedily on heaths of gore. And, goblin wade sodden feet along a blood-soaked shore!<BR><BR>The clutching terror of the dream strangled the half-elven sleeper, as if, strangulation was what he desired… then, armies stood in balance, within the All Mighty Hand. The skies shook and the seas warred,.. and silence drifted, as dust upon the barren land...<BR><BR>...suddenly the dream emptied into sentient awareness. Trace lept to his feet. Urgency plagued his every move. His demenaour was cold and hard. Leaves crunched beneath his soft boots. Then, the forest breeze, in silence, kissed the droplets of iced perspiration above Trace’s quivering lips….<BR><BR>"Well met, fair lady! We were summoned to escort you. And with trepidation we thought we would be too late." A tall elf gracefully leapt from his dappled mount. His glossy, auburn hair cascaded to his shoulders. Despite his ruby locks, this elf reminded many of Finwe, the dark-haired King. Effortlessly he glided to where the Lady tuile waited. She was cautious. Uncertain, for who could have summoned this escort?<BR><BR>"I am called Tintall, of the Golodhrim, these are my kinsmen and friends. All of the house of Fingolfin, cousin to Feanor. We rode with your sons not yet, Ardour and your youngest son, Ardour's twin, Amiable. For a time, we hunted the wide plains of East Beleriand, so long ago. We six will travel at your will. For whatever service you may need of us."<BR><BR>tuile could detect no duplicity in these words. Tintall was truly of the Noldor. Yet, she had never heard of him before. Not so strange, she considered. Those days were a trouble and much travail had consumed her attention. Cautiously,.. "well met Tintall, whom was it that summoned you to my aid?"<BR><BR>"It was in dream. We were called by one named Trace."<BR><BR>Tintall and his kin took shelter from as the wind and rain began to pelt in a bitter crescendo. The heavy bowers of the willow tree bent, as if offering the elves a comforting embrace. The elven troop were enthralled by this meeting. Talk of the Blessed Realm had never interested these elves. They had been content to traverse Middle-earth as troubadours and adventurers. It had seemed that now, finally, a challenge of courage and worth was inviting them into a nearer reality, than they had experienced in over a century....<BR><BR><BR>"Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!" Tintall whispered, and, with a flourish, revealed his dark face from beneath his hood.<BR><BR>Lady tuile could discern a brooding melancholy deep within the elf’s eyes. "That is a curious greeting, Tintall. From where did Fingon's war-cry become a greeting among friends? Quenya too, I hope that the memory of the Fifth Battle, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, does not still haunt you? Or, do you have some premonition of doom for us?" <BR><BR>"Heavy is the hand of doom. Yet, we, my fellow kinsmen, do not heed the Dark Song. We come from Lindon, what remained of Beleiand after it was broken. We are of the House of Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, of the House of Fingolfin. Much trouble has haunted us, we do not tremble with premonitions of doom."<BR><BR>The exquisite tuile began to understand. "So lovely a flower, Aredhel, the Noble Elf." tuile's eyes misted in a memory, "Ar-Feiniel, the White Lady of the Elves, she was sister of Fingon and Turgon. So, Tintall, your kinsmen walk among the sacred doom of Aredhel."<BR><BR>"Yes, fair Queen, She was so like yourself." Tintall bowed slightly to tuile. "For she was one of the noblest of the Noldor."<BR><BR>Tintall relived his memories of the tragic story. His thoughts visited Turgon's sister, and how she had wandered from Gondolin, only to be snared by Eöl, the Dark Elf. The regret of their union haunted all elven kind. For as his wife, she bore him a son, Maeglin. It was Eöl's vain attempt to slay his son with a poisoned dart, that struck Aredhel. Noble to the last, she had sprung to take the dart and died of its poison. <BR><BR>tuile, empathically, was consumed with Tintall's suffering. "I recall the fair White Lady, Aredhel. Do not linger in the guilt of Thingol's kinsman, Eöl."<BR><BR>"No, fair Queen, we must continue to wander under the dark shadows of that ancient forest, for, as Eol preferred the night to the day, so must we. He was known as the Dark Elf, so are we Dark Elves,.. 'til his curse be lifted from my kinsmen and myself."<BR><BR>"Yours is not Eöl's epithet," tuile almost chanted. "The Sindarin Elves, were of the Moriquendi, the Dark Elves who had never seen the light of the Two Trees..."<BR><BR>"Nay, Lady tuile, the Dark Elf of Nan Elmoth and his doomed son Maeglin, are our burden. Just as traitorous Eöl was slain by Turgon in vengeance, just so, we have pledged to slay the memory of all Elven Traitors. And, so, our greeting remains," Tintall's kinsmen joined in one voice,.. "Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!"<BR><BR>In the gentleness of her heart, tuile was stunned with the force of the war cry. tuile's eyes filled with rain. One elegant finger wiped the mist from her eyes....<BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR>With each step Trace began to detect a horrendous urgency. The air was vibrant with heroic possibility. His acute senses apprehended that Time had been disrupted. There was an enormous effort being made by something, or, someone, an effort to change the course of events. And, the Half-elven, recognized that the manipulations were such, that they were challenging the dynamic of peace and prosperity,.. attacking the heart of the realm, which was the legacy of King Ellessar.<BR><BR>Soon, Trace had made his way to an industrious outpost on the Northwest borders of Rohan. At first there was a gateway of several farmhouses equipped with verdant crops and stout barns. Wagons, loaded with barley and wheat, trundled toward a moderate collection of buildings clustered round the mountain-fed river. There was a canal, leading from river to the east. It was a functional waterway. obviously man-made. For, it was crafted with a strict order, which disturbed the landscape, with its artificial intrusion. Large, flat water-wagons, trussed with secured goods and decorated with busy workmen, were edging slowly toward a meeting with the Anduin River. These barges were pulled by several stout farm-horses.<BR><BR>To the West, rock, then, snow and ice, shouldered the landscape. Peaks of spectacular views, snow crowned, leapt in towers to greet the rising dawn. Silver runnels, of multi-fingered streams filtered through the river valley, as if pumping life's blood. The fecund soil bathed in the beautiful, glacier fed streams, running through fields of barley and wheat. Tall stands of poplar and willow trees, lingered among the homesteads. Fanghorn Forest loomed in the distance. <BR><BR>Trace knew this place well. That Old forest had been his nurturer. Fanghorn had been both father and mother to him. It was there he had first dreamed of tuile, yearned for a freedom, that he had taken for granted in more youthful days. Yet, before he could return, he realized that he must visit the bazaar first....<BR><BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR><BR>With elegant fingertips, each painted the most delicate hues of golden yellow, a young woman turned the pages of a leathery book. Reading, reflecting, then, finally, she closed it with a dull thud. Her eyes, gray with introspection, glistened with moist concentration. Her distinctive, elven features were caressed with the hood of her golden robe.<BR><BR>She then walked to a case and with an effort, raised its lid. Inside, an thick manuscript nestled within cobwebs. Her uncertain fingertips brushed aside the eerie, gauze covering. She lifted the leathered book and placed it on her reading table. The lovely woman used a scarf and patiently brushed the book’s cover, as dust, and filmy laces of a spider’s web disappeared. With care she opened it, then, smoothed out the crinkled pages. <BR><BR>A second woman crept silently beside her. Her robes were darker, trimmed with crimson. The young acolyte was startled as the elderly woman sneezed. "What is it, that you are searching for, my child?" As if with apprehension, the elder used weak fingers to turn the pages of the tome. She paused, then pointed a bony finger at the jaundiced parchment. Her voice cracked, as if with strain. "Banalfees?" the mother's voice was more than tinged with age, "those are the fees which a feud lord imposes on his serfs for the use of his mill, oven, wine press, or similar facilities. It some times includes a fish catch or the proceeds from a rabbit warren..." she paused. "Sister Jezzah, you are still not troubling over the freedom? He is imprisoned and will remain safe, while he is so."<BR><BR>"No, Serene Mother, it is not the King’s edict I am concerned about. My father is doomed by a more dangerous curse. The Dark Elves seek him. He carries a burden that reaches far into the past. My father and his brother were responsible for keeping watch. Instead of duty they wrote a song. It was in the night that evil crept and passed through, and slew many kinsmen and captains. The Dark Elves found my uncle. He is no more. They will do the same to my father."<BR><BR>"Peace, child, for longer than an hundred lives, your father dwells in the shame of one misdeed. After the deaths of Aredhel and Eol, Gondolin had peace. Why cannot your family rest?"<BR><BR>"Peace! There is no quiet in my father’s soul, nor mine, evermore. The time of Morgoth destroyed all hope for my family. The doom of the Elves would fall upon my kin with a far heavier hand. One winter's night, Elves of Darkness, took revenge upon my uncle. Soon, they will have my father."<BR><BR>"Jezzah," the old woman placed a withered, velvety touch atop her elven acolyte’s hand. "Jezzah..."<BR><BR>"No, Serene Mother, you do not understand. These Dark Elves have the magic to rob of us. Their bane is not death, it is far worse,.. with their Stroke, they can Separate. Asunder, from all elven kind for evermore, we will be. For, I was there that night. The song was for me. I had brought my father and uncle a meal that night. They wrote, then sang for me. And to their doom, their shame, I am bound. The Dark Elves seek me..." <BR><BR>The elven maiden removed her hand from beneath the Gondorian Healer’s grip. She reached for her neck. Her elegant fingers clasped a locket, their golden nails traced the image of a flower embossed with jewels.<BR><BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR><BR>Trace felt troubled. He could not remove the image of a flower from his mind. Upon the periphery of awareness, he could discern delicately painted fingertips, as if ten suns in a warm horizon. They glimmered, golden, resting upon the bed of a single, jeweled, flower....<BR><BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR><BR>Ringsule trotted down the forest trail. Tintall lead and the Dark Elves, with tuile following. Lady tuile almost sang, "By Ulmo, tell the tale of your Dark Kindred. For surely, your kinsmen are not kin of the same House? Why are you called Dark?"<BR><BR>Down, towards Annuminas, the road beckoned. The slush of sodden turf and hooves became rhythmical. The forest path widened, as scrub brush and occasional shoulders of trees cleared into a scenic valley. The rain continued to pelt the riders and their mounts. <BR><BR>Tintall, whispered to Ringsule and the horse shimmied, then began to canter. He began his story. His words, melodic, patterned an hypnotic echo, companioning the relentless rhythm of the horse’s foot flops. "Out of the womb of the West we came. Elves, westward, led by Elwe and his brother Olwë." Tintall continued in sing-song,.. "I was there. There among those following Thingol. I saw Melian the Maia, exquisite in the wood of Nan Emloth."<BR><BR>"You saw Melian? Still you despair?" tuile inquired<BR><BR>"Yes, I called Doriath, my woodland home. It was idyllic, crafted with the elegant care of Melian,.. and so, Thingol ruled the Sindar for many years. I was faithful, then…." the elven voice trailed into sorrowful drone. The rain whispered in sympathy. "Thingol's doom was as much my fault as any. Beren brought him a Silmaril. Thingol gave a daughter. Morgoth used me to exact his vile revenge." The sad tale emptied into a lonesome landscape.<BR><BR>tuile, prayerfully, spoke, "What do you mean?"<BR><BR>"When I first saw the Silmaril, I broke into song. It was a song of deceit, veiled in frivolous mirth. It was a cursed song, fraught with premonition of Dwarves and the Blue Mountains. I sang of a necklace. My voice designed the name Nauglamir in that song, ere it ever was spoken by elf or dwarf in Thingol’s treasury. Nauglamir, a thing of envy, a talisman of doom. I sang, and, as if in fulfillment, the Dwarves rose as envious thieves and stole Thingol from my kinsmen and the greater world. Thingol, the crown jewel of Sindarin treasury ripped from the living heart as a...." The downpour wept and the words spilled into silence.<BR><BR>"Yet, you did not make the necklace, nor, hold the Silmaril. What guilt is yours?" tuile accompanied the rain’s sympathy.<BR><BR>"No, fair Lady, I sang this song and that very day, Hurin brought the necklace to Thingol in Menegroth. It was my song that first gave Elwe the idea to mount the Silmaril within Nauglamir’s greedy grasp. It was I who was captain of the guard of Thingol’s treasury. I, Tintall Enfalion, who left his post ere the dwarves slew my King! As certain as Morgoth’s hand. I had not perceived the lust in the workmen’s hearts. I had left, abandoned my post, to bring ale to quench dwarven thirst. A celebration, I wanted, a fell doom I brought. My song, my folly, my treachery...."<BR><BR>Relentless, the rain splattered wet cold in a dark shadow. Unforgiving, the downpour submerged the mounted troupe in a muddy path of despair.<BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR><BR>The past ten, or so, decades Trace had not visited the outpost of Ladakeh. Then, it was little more than a guard's posting on the looming ruins of Orthanc. Then, his dreams of the Lady tuile were mere seeds, sleeping in a garden of loneliness. As he entered the main concourse, cluttered with wagons, horses and walkers too concerned with business to even bid the wanderer welcome. In his reclusive fastness of Fanghorn, he had journeyed to the guard's bulwark with a seasonal regularity. The decade following King Ellessar's coronation, he would spend over three months every summer in the military center that would become Ladakeh. He knew the shops that had slowly taken shape too well. He had been there to meet the prosperous merchants, which had flocked in greedy droves to this haven of industry. <BR><BR>Many winters past, on the beaches of the Goa, the canal that connected Ladakeh with the Anduin and the greater world, Trace had befriended one of the town's most prominent merchants. With a focus more concerted than the typical commerce-consumed, he headed toward Escale, his friend. The bustle of the burg was as a sea. <BR><BR>Trace found the wall of buildings in the center of the merchant district. There was the antique shop, nestled in a dingy alley. An open drain neighbored the shop and flushed the city's waste to some foetid locale. The street was embellished with colourful locals and mysterious visitors. Several elves were singing beneath a multi-colored canopy of sheer fabric. Their melodious voices enthralled children and elders. Occasional Westerners and men of Gondor surrounded an open table, conversed in business too dear for common folk. Several dwarves contorted with perspiration, hammer and chisel. As they laboured, an Honour of Stone grew out of the rock. The dwarves had been hired to construct homage to the King. This was going to be a Center! Ladakeh would not remain a mere outpost, if it were up to the merchant's ambition. Clutches of Hobbits scurried to and fro, as if spys concocting a brew of intrigue. It was an almost happy scene. <BR><BR>As Trace entered the antique shop, a tour of Southerners brusquely pushed by him. Herlerich Horrier, a local of apparant status, led them. He was whispering, "Oh, do not trouble yourself. You bring me rumors, not factual representations. There has been no trouble with orcs, since, since, well, you tell me when?" This group continued out of earshot, yet, had to stop and wait at a cornor. They could not pass the procession of several hundred belled donkeys, mules and horses brought down to Ladakeh from the high pastures of eastern Rohan. Ladakeh was a main artery of the kingdom.<BR><BR>Inside, the shoppe was a fragrant embrace of incense and secluded darkness. The atmosphere was murky with shadows, as if, one entered a magical world. A tall, hooded figure was pontificating to his customers, "Ah, yes, I have dwelt with shamans, with oracles, among exorcists, worked with astari and Elven Lord, I have dwelt for a time in Imladris, of old." <BR><BR>Several women nodded in approval. "Yes, you have found the departure of your search. It is I, Escale, merchant of the mysterious. Your very fantasies start and are collected here, in my shop, in Ladakeh." <BR><BR>One lady spoke in tittering query. Escale replied, "In those days Ladakehis all wore theatrical attire. Hats and chubas, ankle length coats with scarves for belts, the women wore flimsy skirts and gauzy parkahs. The headware, oh, the fabulous turquoise headdresses expressly contained the family wealth. It was then, in the elder day, then, schools were held under willow trees and money hardly existed. Then, the Kingdom thrived and Ladakeh arrived. The inhabitants filled the Kingdom's need and out of northern Rohan we brought barley and wheat and hay to feed them."<BR><BR>Trace felt as if he had never left this place. The feeling reminded him as to why he had. Yet, his heart recognized that this pathway was a gateway, leading to tuile.<BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR><BR>Trace had found a corner niche. From a stool, with the haunting image of Lady tuile as company, he listened with an almost glee at the ranting of the shopkeeper. He was amused as Escale serviced the more ethereal needs of his female customers. Dispensing charms, potions and esoteric "readings", as if they were free. <BR><BR>Escale pocketed a heft of coin and escorted the over-satisfied customers with an authoritative manner. Escale declared, "Know that your very essence has been fed! For you have discovered the reward of Escale,.. Escale, the warrior, the harpist, poet, athlete, historian, physician. Escale," the furrowed face winked at an elderly woman who had bought an unreasonable amount of potions and resins and handfuls of amulets, "And, and, Escale, the adept in magic and sorcery."<BR><BR>The merchant bid the women good day and turned to the figure on the stool. He carefully chose an urn. He removed it from a dusty shelf. The curio depicted six birds flanking a sacred fountain, which rested on energy spirals over its outer rings. "Well, sir, you seem to be my only customer. Could I interest you in this urn? Its origins are secured in ancient long-life and fortune-bestowing rituals." Escale paused, "Well, whom is this honorable visitor? It could not be that forest dweller, Trace, could it? For, if it is, these past twenty-one and ninety summers you have not changed. Well, I have an answer to one of my questions. You must have chosen the way of the elf. For you have not aged one day since last we throttled a cask of ale!"<BR><BR>Trace found little humor this morning. His mind fixated on images of a steed, burnished with perspiration, racing with the wind, carrying a lithe maiden toward danger. These images were laden with a musical quality, the lyric of tuile. "I have not come to visit. I have need of one with "the sight"... Will you sojourn with me in an adventure? There will be danger, even death, if you decide to help me?"<BR><BR>So, this is what friendship has become, less than dross. Twenty so years short of a century and you come with a request? So, you desire a favor. Do I presume that old friends make good dupes?"<BR><BR>Trace recognized the prideful display for what it was. "No. I do not asume too much. We are of like kind. Your reclusive choice to fashion a merchant from a Savant, is equally as solitary as mine. I have discovered great need. The Times of Travail have returned. There was no need of our kind for s long. Now, we dwell on a Precipice. Will you remove your mundane charade as a peddler? Will you take up staff to companion my sword?"<BR><BR>Escale considered the gruff queries with distant intent. "So, it has come to this. No, no I am most comfortable. The ladies come to me. I have full table and a restful bed. No, do not come to me speaking riddles of dangers that are merely wisps of rumor."<BR><BR>"Rumor, rumor, Escale," Trace left the stool and stood to look down at the tall merchant. "Escale, I have been having dreams again."<BR><BR>"Hmmm, so, dreams have returned to keep you companion on your lonely vigil. Do they offer warmer conversation than me?"<BR><BR>"Enough of this." The half-elven's anger began to stir.<BR><BR>"So, then, let me see your Token. The one given by your mother as your father's gift."<BR><BR>Hesitant, Trace reached a gloved hand to his collar. His thoughts went to his youthful days, they seemed far removed, less carefree, the burden of Life was palpable now, imminent. Yet, his heart rode with the wild stallions. It sang a song of tuile. With less certainty, he removed a chained mithril amulet. Upon its circular face were engraved the figures of a man, a bird and left and right were a horse and a flower. Four jewels were lodged beneath each crafted figure. A diamond north, beneath the man. To the south a ruby, scarlet, below the bird. East and west were a sapphire and an emerald. These four surrounded a heart entwined in a budded vine pierced with a sword.<BR>Escale took his time and concocted a mixture of dark tea. Casually, he sipped at the cup 'til it was empty. His eyes became glassy his lips began to twitch. Several beads of moisture blossomed around his mouth. His breathing became labored. "Well, Trace, the central icon is an enigma to me. You, may be the Heart, or, it may be something, someone else? No, no, this heart is much more. It is many things. This is a puzzle, this heart? The diamond man, well that is I. How strange this cipher becomes. The horse, we must look for a means of travel, or, a horseman? It is not clear. The bird, well, I think I may help with that one. Follow me..."<BR><BR>The two crossed the wooden planks of the shoppe. Trace whispered, "Perhaps it is a horse woman that calls to you?" <BR><BR>Escale, nodded to this possibility, then opened a back door. "A woman? Perhaps, it is so... that would explain my difficulty at reading the heart. The ladies always confuse me." <BR><BR>"Not that I could ever tell." Trace completed this with a laugh.<BR><BR>Through the back doorway they entered a candlelit room. Inside the small workspace the sounds of chirping danced in the cloistered air. Two large cages, fashioned of twigs, were filled with a various songbirds. A third cage, smaller, housed a single, tiny bird.<BR><BR>"That is a Kirinki. Her named is called Xatia. Well, she appears to be a Kirinki. It is far more..."<BR><BR>Trace examined the tiny scarlet bird. "Yes, these were native of Numenor. How did you come by this treasure?"<BR><BR>"So, as I said, it is an appearance of a Kirinki. In truth this one is a shape-shifter! Yet, let me see, I discovered Xatia nearly the same day I met you. And since then she has been stagnant. Either she refuses to transform, or, she has lost the will? I do not know. I only know that she let herself be taken by me from her frozen nest in Cahadras. Tiny Xatia has dwelt these some one hundred and ten years in this cage. Imprisoned by her lost will."<BR><BR>"How will this aid us? This kirinki is smaller than a wren. Its bright scarlet feathers, and voice is so high that it can hardly be heard by Men?"<BR><BR>"Do not despair; fortune has its way of encouraging the broken-hearted. Come my friend," Escale, the Savant, opened the cage and cautiously placed a hand inside. The tiny red bird, Xatia, skittered atop his extended finger. Then it flew to land on Trace's shoulder.<BR><BR>"See! See, this is a portent! This is your bird, your shape-shifter. Now two are joined, diamond and bird. Your talisman is becoming a living whole. And you said your father gave you nothing! Now, let us find a horse and a flower. Soon, we may know what is in your heart?"<BR><BR>Starlight glimmered with effervescence. The ebony expanse of night sky overspread fulfillment, to oblivion and beyond. Trace had been dream-sleeping, among his half-elven reverie, for some time now. Within a mithril toned haze, the images of two maidens caressed his dreamy senses. "Jezzah,.." he murmured in hushed tones. "tuile..." accompanied in singsong fashion. These dual maidens seemed to press deeper into his psyche. Questions pressed wanton hands onto his heart. "Why are they so far removed? What may I do to unite them?" Then, sudden as a door swinging open in a brisk breeze, the answer rushed in... "They have become separate, these two are the same, yet, apart?"<BR><BR>Escale had let him rest. The wanderer was far older than the Savant, yet, he appeared so much the younger. Escale considered this for a few moments, then his concentration faltered, as it lingered among the stars.<BR><BR>They had come to camp on this grassy hillside of southern Rohan near the setting of day. In twilight they had made a small fire and rested in the cool night air. They had not come here by chance. Escale wanted to visit the "Wishing Stone". Trace had left it to his esoteric companion to discover a way to reach the mysterious figures of horse and flower. Escale intimated that an answer lay hidden in the veil of an ancient stone. And it was...<BR><BR>Escale had meditated for moments on the elegance of starlight. The clear, cool night air invigorated his senses. Under moonlight, the stone, niched in a garden of grass, loomed skyward as a pointing finger. The Savant focused on the dark grooves and smooth patches of the stone. It was very old; it knew things others merely glimpsed.<BR><BR>As Escale's meditations went from star to stone a vision climaxed in his mind's eye. There was a woman, of elven ancestry. A troubled woman, she was standing over a book. Her grey eyes were transfixed with some terror she had failed to deny. The woman traced several golden tipped fingers over her lips. She screamed in silence... the vision disappeared... "So, this is the flower? Wake! Wake, sleepudraughts!"<BR><BR>Trace lurched to an elbow, elven sleep evaporated into intense alertness. "What?"<BR><BR>"We must be of to Gondor. Your flower awaits you there...."<BR><BR><BR>~~~<BR><BR><BR>Breeze, the quixotic fairy, fluttered her wings expectantly. Her dream visits were usually more of a casual, convivial nature, but, tonight she was looking for something. To and fro, fro and to she flitted purposefully. Dodging butterflies, zooming through blossoms,.. straight to fawn and dewy meadow.<BR><BR>Hesitating, she alit on a flower's top, to sip a smidgeon of nectar. <BR>She could find her quest soon enough, in the normally frequented spots. Breeze tingled and sang, the words were edited, the post reformed, less brazen, more acceptable. "We can't have that nonsense, in this dream. Too near the edge it falters." Breeze laughed... a soft rain shimmered, within a tender blue sky, flowers smiled and fleeting clouds sighed, "I will awaken soon...."<BR>

Halfelven took shelter beneath overspreading branches. Rain was soft, but, it would soon become a stormy trouble. The Sleepwalker, breathed deep, into his very soul,.. ahhh, this was the enchanted garden! <BR><BR>Halfelven began to sing... the lyrics were refreshing. In a gentling way, the melody, harmonious, refreshing for the most weary of limbs. And there was, the rosebuse. It was as magnificent as all have spoken... magnificent. Beneath the myriad blossums of peach roses, fresh waters, from a glorious fount pourd into a gentle stream, which fed the Sea... <BR><BR>Trace, beyond imaginning had found it! Or, had it discoverd him? Well, the Butterflies knew and his heart was carefree, celestial! Trace marvelled at the Peacocks and scarlet, blue and green parrots! He spied three fawn and their doe guardian, he laughed at their lapping music... several monkeys were chattering in drinking, as the fount fed the rain forest... magical!<BR><BR>Then, a single crystalline butterfly alit, just above his heart. The colorful poem bearer, presetned his rainbow, crystaline riddle, Trace became entranced within the glittering crystal facets of the butterfly message... revelation! He held it dear in his hand... then, the butterfly began to glow. Trace's hand became red tinged, as his blood was heated by the crystal butterfly... then, too hot to hold, Trace released the Crystalline celestial visitor to the up-reaching bowers... this singular butterfly took wing and steered into the wind.... <BR><BR>Trace basked in the magic... his soul soared, his mind reeled... the elegance the beauty made his heart fly on butterfly wings... His heart became poem. His voice raised for muse...<BR><BR>"Crystalline Riddle"<BR><BR>now listen as daffodils sing in the green glen, <BR>with voices of soft scents, happy as children,<BR>with bouquets of roses, and lilys that bared,<BR>the starlight and moonglow, in petals so fair,<BR>displaying the wonders, so sweet and serene,<BR>returning the soft light, with shimmering sheen,<BR>singing of Trace and the muse he held fair,<BR>the muse hymned of glory, Halfelven, of star,<BR>the two sang of miracles, from Heaven afar...<BR><BR>off in the distance the riddle it came, on wings<BR>all golden, as sunrise, which Trace did cling,<BR>and flying through memories, elf sang with man,<BR>of glorious gardens, where love first began,<BR>of Time and of Twilight, of dances, of songs,<BR>of melodies, of wisdom, of Heaven belonged,<BR>belonging to no one, the butterfly sung,<BR>and trilled of the morning and kissed as the wind,<BR>for Trace held the golden wings and captured sublime,<BR>the crystalline maiden, and the butterfly did unwind....

"Dreams So Real"<BR><BR>The longer I walk the inner roads, <BR>the more I understand, why our ancestors <BR>dared the traps untold, <BR>the labyrinth of yore.<BR>Both, uninitiated and unobservant, see,<BR>a maze, that we are never free. <BR>A maze where we live our lives waiting <BR>to turn the corner, to that bright unveiling. <BR><BR>What we don't often understand, <BR>is why the heart, sleeps in dreamland,<BR>or, must be carried out each night, <BR>or, held onto ever tight.<BR>For it is only in the light of day, <BR>that dreams become real, let us play.<BR>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~The Virgin's chore, though Dragons roar, is to remain chaste while sea crawls to shore...

An ode for the Prince of Finns, our very own !ISAIAH!

Uh huh, that's !ISAIAH!

The sea crawls from the shore
Leaving there
The tenuous slime of weed,
The corpse's hair.
The shroud of little death, goodbye...

Then, desolate despair, withdrawing sea,
The Fearless Finn of Godsilly was he...
Who once was glorious swift.
Now all I know is how to mourn...
I'll do it well.

~~~~~

Look for his fingers
touching threads of golden light,
encompassing shimmering night,
as stars,
with words,
mere as shadows on the tips,
of maiden's minds and delicate lips,
The pain, the pain, tis gone, tis gone....

Can we despise, the loss,
Which swore the truth was held in lies.
One thing alone tis well to toss--
goodbyes, tis gone....

~~~~

That young sun...
Gave youth to everyone,
Touching everything with gold...
His woven threads undone,
And me, grown old.

The cold, so cold,
yet, still a seed
grows there in need...
Where love and word
are timeless toiled,
Where hope remains in fertile soil...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Young men...
whose horses gallop
On Rohan's plain,
Young women...
who dance delighted
in Lothlorien's rain,
Tear the lightning from the sky!
And each to each, we'll never die,..
so like, !ISAIAH! we are left to cry,
when skyfire writes our sad goodbye!

~~~~~~

And still the sea
Raises foam
to drench and plunge from,
depths unknown...
Crashing, senseless through my head
Images of the drifting dead.

Each to each our subtle sighs,
in meloncholy mourning, inquires,
about his plight...
A king fades
Into the shivering night.

~~~

As each and every season prove
That flower returns in tended ground.
Have I not known enough of love
To know it's lost as soon as found?

~~

Let's drink to fill,
our wine with elves,
and toast the Godsilly...
where honor dwells...
Time, as sea, releases all..
Bring cup and heart to funeral pall.

Now, too near the face of Time,
let's drink it's wine...
with fired fingertips,
with words sublime,
As wind and water, foamy brine,
Stitches salt, from eyes to lips.

Oh, lonesome sea
back away from me...
Return the tide,
that brought !ISAIAH! to our side...
He who took us briefly, as his bride.

~~~~

Our sea is lessened, smaller now.
and seabird's song it goes, somehow,
Leaves us here,
where foam and weed doth die,
in dunes of sand, on deserted land,
Dry as water passing through our hands.

Then, desolate despair, withdrawing sea,
The Fearless Finn of Godsilly was he...
Who once was glorious swift.
Now all I know is how to mourn...
I'll do it well

Beauty, clarity and hope, often abide within dream...
dwell, ecstatic, invigorated in this virtual maze...
Live with joy! Dream of love! Dwell in magic!
Reside in this thoroughly ethereal world...
Old and new, visitors every night...
journey with the extraordinary...
divine the less predictable…
comprehend the mysterious...
budding flowers are revelatory,
moments are unexplored horizons...
friends are dreams come true, me and you...

Then comes fairy godmother,
most likely to remain
in dreamland, she hovers,
within Imagination’s domain.
Adventures described, reflected in mirror,
belief challenges desire,
in unspoken terror.
What shall we face? what inspire?
As our journeys we make,
through tales hidden in shadows.
Treasure, wealth, golden we take,
insight, with care, rids us of sorrows.
Wishes come true, for me and for you.

Do not let the traps, the labyrinth
keep you uninitiated, unobservant...
a maze, amazed where we live our lives,
become a waiting, an almost turn of corner,
release into to that bright tomorrow,
sail happily, sail free, remember me..

Hullo TerryD! I haven't been here in ages, hehe.Look, I'm typing in color on TORC! Wow. I just noticed that you can do that on here now. Anyhoo, I really liked your ode to !ISAIAH!, it's awesome! Oh yea, I just read the Butterfly story-thingy, and a few years ago I caught a lot of caterpillars and watched them turn into butterflies-painted ladies-and it was so cool!

We thirst and drink with gratefullnes,
as soul is parched, with bitter lime.
Our minds dull, with utter ordinariness,
take slow moving pulse, we plod through time.
We await within trembling gloom,
patient, 'til your light enters the room.

With joy we sound, the trumpet's blare!
With hope we fill our hearts!
With love we take your arms in care,
with huggs we do our part.
We chase away the diminished gloom,
with patience filled, your light enters the room.

Silent drip the candles,
as drops of wine on skin.
Darkness, ever near, dwindles,
as candlelight warmly presses in.
Soft sensations, one can feel,
as satin smoothness 'neath cotton clothes,
caress us, knowing we all are real,
to the promise friendship holds.

With stinging bite, as wasps,
we each leave, from time to time,
forgetfullness grips our wrists,
and we are not written, forgotten rhyme.
Poetic shadow paints our world here,
only moments, that breathe too fast,..
In... out... waves against the shore,
this day slips into oceans Past.

Under starlight, flickering candles,
a Garden of glory, Celestial room,
look up unto the Dipper's handles,
Orion, Perseids, are in full bloom.
Summer stars surround us in cuddly blankets,
as flower petals, on Wedding beds.
We awaken counting stars, twinkling trinkets,
imaginary playmates, for little kids.

We gaze at blinking cursor,
the nearest human miles away,
we leave a message for him, or, her,
in hopes this moment will always stay.
These threads remain, with hope to please,
as candles, with starlight promise,
each thread a tree, words rustling leaves,
in forest sky, to break the silence.

I step further into this room and wistfully heard,
friends close the door behind me, without a word.
Thin shadows play against the carpet's twill,
shadows on walls whisper, as lights give a thrill,
so busy, the street outside, crested in rainbow,
this colored arc crept in through opened window,
shading the dark, candelit room, in palette hues,
slight tremors, as nervousness, beyond all views,
started to walk up back stairways, they wept,
a gentle sigh, beginning to subside, as they left.
I relaxed into this room, so gently,
then my friends put arms around me.

She can rise taller than the snow crested mounts,
or, small as luminescent beads of dew,..
she is both wide, as ocean expanse,
and narrow as the voice of truth....
She can fly through your eye's iris,
or loom large as heroic dream.
She can be everywhere. She can be nowhere.
She is all and every thing,
and this is at once....

She is our dreams and your nightly reverie.
She is our daylight walking friend.
She is luminous with her gentle kindness,
and phosphorescent with her wealth of wisdom...
she is a Lady of the White Council,
the vision of night and clear day!

Oh where are thee, Lady Galadriel, Vanaladiel?
Enter this Garden, as subtle perfume.
Enter, Arwen 740, RavenTinuviel, tuile, and rwhen.
Let us glimpse thy graceful form as the hidden,
mysterious, movement of the air. Yet,
I look and looked and no one was there.

She comes as subtle as faint strains of music...
yet, no musicians are nearby....
more often as a cyclical span, a joyous life,
a passing through childhood, a becoming, mature,
lovely, ever young... woo this goddess,
and, as I, you perhaps, too... will merely enter
her to die and be reborn, once again as her offspring.

With forms delightful, often as maiden, always as mother,
sometimes as wish sublime. Awaken Moon, rise bright Sun...
fill and flood us o tides of life,.. return again
o natural cycles, return and govern our births,
and lives and deaths.

Lady, appear in your many forms
with your many different faces...
manifest your exquiste form and face...
Oh Lady Gwen, sandra, Tempest, you are within us,..
as our Mothers, as our Daughters, as or female lovers,
as our friends... Genuvere, Rodia, Broken_Arrow, Witchwench.

Come again, fair Lady, through time, within and without,..
come when called, called by any name, InnocentEvil, enchantress.
Dream, Desire, Hope, Treasure, Music, Poem, Bride, Princess,
Queen, Wisdom, Love, Lady, oh Lady, and countless more.
Your names are boundless, for you are with us, from beginnings...
you are that which is attained at the end of desire.

Lady, your mystic places and wondrous realms,
are Surprise, Awe, Mystery. You are the misty borders
of Otherworlds, you are the abode of the Land of the Youth
where heroes, dreamers and lady fair feast...
you are the land of the dying, where ancestors sleep,
vacation, and contemplate on their oft forgotten lives.
You are what we all call... magic.

Where lies a leafy island...
Where flying wrens escape...
Where drowsy bunnies in their holes,
Nod and rise with gentle awake.

Oak physician, tender your remedy,
Heal those who wander the difficult way.
Nurture those who dare impossible tasks
Foster those who continue, maintain, and ask.

Solely the pure were, it is spoken
able to approach the butterfly token,
those, else approaching, merely gaze,
simply see it disappear, as mists before their eyes.
The water is very deep…
Submerged beneath, lies a land of limited reality
A hand, a cup, a sacred vessel, a sea…
Brimming with romances, with curiosity.
Swimming in tides of metal and gemstone,
Embracing the swimmer, never alone.
The water is deep…

Flower doctor spread your perfumed remedies.
Scented sweet, increase each vessel’s ability.
Assist the remembering, the wakening of dreams,
deepen the quality of internal flowing streams.
Make manifest symbolic content.
Emote with fragrances that are reminiscent…
The water is very deep…
Swim dream voyagers, through tides wrestle,
Submerge and enter that sacred vessel.
Discover that empty glass, that filled Cauldron,
drink the immortality of friendship’s wisdom...
the water is deep…

Butterflies describe the air with colored drops,
as a sea of gem fire, the flower crop.
With wing and blossum dreams appear,
into waking moments, ever near.
Butterflies grant the ethereal ability
to look inside water and truly see,
what Past, Present, and Future will be…
The water is very deep…

Is it too dear a task? can we see?
That there are two realms of possibility…
Each to each, connected and interwoven,
one of root, one of vessel stolen…
Beneath the waves, in liquid descent,
swim to Underworld, fully prescient.
With butterfly and garden wife,
enter and dwell in an afterlife,
a place beyond belief and known,
where sacrifice and death are done.
Together swim with dreamy realms,
of the unconscious, inspired, eternal rhythms.
The water is dear and deep…

Quest with step, your story tell,
dream and drink from this garden's well.
Dare to be more than what's inside,
no longer is need to run and hide.
With contemplation, be yourself,
now cloak and hat are on the shelf.
List your eyes in wholesome thought,
Learn from memory, with yearning taught.
Golden days when we were young,
with heart uplifted, of victories sung.
Free to gaze with starlit eyes,
to vision loveliness with sweet surprise.
Search with butterfly, with hummingbird hover,
and soon and simply your soul uncover.
Seek with pure and steadfast heart,
discover what will be your part.

Ghosts, as snow, piled high as a roof,
behind your sleeping chambers, murmuring,
memories of the time before, echoes of ghosts,
spectral, scarce, incoherent, timeless ghosts,
when you knew no one and belonged nowhere,
insubstantial, spectre eyes, white and feeble,
ash-coloured skin, pale and languid,
wings were nothing, lots of fright,
or, peace, in ghosts of splendorous strength,
gloriously golden, foglike, fearless, free,
form hinged on resplendent gilded wings,
commanding the air about, irrefutably,
eyes straight, sagacious, serene,
golden ghosts, ghosts of ash, of air,
tiny and desolate, towering and deep,
haunted hands sliding underneath your frail,
quivering breath, with such a gentleness,
never expected, never released, never forgotten,
timorous whispers, "I will awaken you, I will..."
taking your heart, as if by the hand and guiding it,
running with it, frolicking, mystified, devoutly beholden,
ghosts grown only on the milk of will, nourished by naught,
but fervor and desirous drenching storm, deceptions,
ghosts, as old picnic tables rotting, overgrown,
moss and weeds, covered ghosts, barely seen still,
even if you wanted to, even if you wanted to enjoy
a midnight meal, unpacking a picnic lunch,
they'd brought along, ghostly snacks, hungry ghosts,
ghosts, spotted, dappled in shades of grey and blue,
ghosts, setting a table of colored stones,
alongside a river of dreams, a mirror of streams,
ghostly faces, glancing, giggling, reflecting, unreal,
spectral surface, rippling, as an almost still pond,
we are the ghosts, the ghosts are life everywhere, nowhere,
and we're the ones who control them, laying hands
over breast and chest, as if to caress the heart underneath,
ghostly voices, haunted breeze, sighing, the ghosts are in here,
piling on your window sill, awaiting you to open still,
and fill your bedchambers with snowy breath and chill...